Consulting Detective Department
by sherlocks-sonicscrewdriver
Summary: Why sherlock treated murder like a game John would never understand...
1. 221B: blood

SHERLOCK 221b: blood

"How did she die? Forensics couldn't find anything in her system to suggest poison, and there are no defensive wounds on her body. She was completely healthy we couldn't find any cause of death…" LeStrade paced the floor back and forth, his hand rubbing the stubble on his chin. "It's as if she just dropped dead!"

Sherlock pulled on the white latex gloves slowly, letting them snap against his wrists, a thoughtful smile playing on his lips. John was watching, a slight frown lining his otherwise young face. He opened his mouth and then closed it before opening it again. However before he could speak Sherlock answered the unasked question with an exasperated sigh, "I know, I know! The girl in there was a human being and should be treated like one, but I _**LOVE**_ the hard cases, the smart killers, I'm always up for a challenge!" He answered excitement in his voice and eyes.

"Brilliant," muttered John, "but bloody annoying as hell…" He made sure Sherlock was well ahead of him before uttering these words, and quite carful to whisper, yet Sherlock's ghostly laugh drifted down from the second floor, and John froze. Either Sherlock had _**unbelievable **_hearing or he was a mind reader. (John suspected the later). "Science of deduction my ass…"

"John, hurry there's _**blood**_!"


	2. Caring

Sherlock burst into 221B, a look of concentration on his face. He pulled off his scarf and coat, tossing them over the side of the leather chair without even looking, and flounced onto the couch stretching out automatically. At once his eyes closed and he brought his hands up to rest on his lips in prayer position to think. John came trotting down the stairs from his room and looked around the corner spotting Sherlock's seemingly sleeping form draped elegantly across the couch, but John knew better. Sherlock was not asleep; in fact he was not even present in the room. John knew Sherlock was somewhere far, far away from the couch in 221B Baker Street. He was locked in some remote corner of his mind palace, where no one could disturb him. Sherlock slept only when absolutely necessary, and currently he had been up for three nights none stop; only a fraction of his usual crash time.

Walking over John placed a mug of tea on the table next to him. "No cream?" Sherlock asked without opening his eyes.

"Two sugars." John replied walking over to the leather recliner, paper in hand. Sherlock picked up the cup and took a sip before setting it back down.

"John," Sherlock said after a brief silence, "Do you think I'm cold hearted, and uncaring?"

John looked, up surprise coloring his features a she met Sherlock's gaze from across the room. "Umm, no. I don't believe so? Why, did someone say something?" He asked incredulously, his mind immediately pulling images of Sargent Sally Donavan and a sneering Anderson to mind.

"No, but everyone's thinking it," Sherlock replied. There was no hint of emotion in his voice, "I was just wondering what you thought." Sherlock turned his head away to face the ceiling and closed his eyes once more, seemingly uncaring. But as always John knew better, this mattered to Sherlock. Usually the more childlike and indifferent he behaved the more he cared. This is how John knew that Sherlock cared, but everyone else just saw it as arrogance or him trying to piss them off.

And knowing how much this mattered to Sherlock, John walked across the room and sat on the edge of the couch, placing a hand on his shoulder, careful that they were not touching anywhere else. "I know you care Sherlock. You care about Mrs. Hudson, and Mycroft though you'd never admit it, and you're friends with D.I. LaStrade, and anyone who cares must have a heart. No matter how under used…."He said trying to cheer him up. And without another word John got up and made his retreat to his bedroom, taking the paper and tea as he went, sensing that Sherlock needed time to think about things.

After Sherlock heard John's door close, silence fell once more. He turned John's words over and over in his head, feeling content at first, but then he began to feel differently, he began to feel sad. Because John didn't know Sherlock as well as Sherlock had believed. John had missed the single most important person, ranked number one on the small list of people Sherlock cared about, and that was John himself…


End file.
